Play
by illyria-pffyffin
Summary: Three desperate hobbits and a suffering forsythia bush.


A/N:  My friends and I had a harrowing experience the first night The Return of the King was in theaters.  We came, we queued, we lost; no tickets, no kidding, no King.  A whirl of rushing from one cinema to the next, a lugubrious cab ride home, a long night of trying to drown our woes by watching The Two Towers DVD, and in the morning this fic was hatched.  Many thanks to Luthien and Elwen for the plot-bunny, and Aratlithiel for rescuing me in the end.

Disclaimer: The characters are all Tolkien's.  I only take them to the movie.

Warning: Senseless violence against innocent plants.

**_PLAY_**

 "It's tomorrow!  It's tomorrow!" sang Pippin, dancing round Frodo.  "Oh!  I'm so excited I'm afraid I'll die when they start performing.  They will kill me, yes, they will kill me!  And I will die happy!"

"Stop it, Pip, or I'll spill this soup on your toes!" said Frodo, dodging his capering cousin.  

"Oh, you will tear all the hair in your feet, cousin, before you tip that mushroom soup on my toes," commented Pippin heedlessly.  "The Muses are coming!  Oh, they are coming here at last!  The Muses are coming!" 

Frodo laughed as he placed the bowl of soup on the table.  "Yes, Pippin dear, they are coming.  Now will you sit down so we can start dinner like reasonable hobbits?  The sooner we go to bed, the faster tomorrow shall come and the nearer we get to A Hero's Return." 

Pippin shivered.  "I don't think I can eat, Frodo.  I'm too excited." 

"Good then," said Frodo, spooning his soup avidly.  "I was thinking there was not enough of that blackberry pie to go around, what with Merry coming tonight." 

"My lack of appetite does not mean that I will say no to dessert," said Pippin haughtily.  

"Merry probably stopped at The Green Dragon and had his dinner there.  And the way you're filling yourself up with that chicken, I know there will be no space left for pies and puddings." 

"You underestimate me, dear Pippin," Frodo laughed.  "Now do you want that potato or do you need me to help you dispose of it?" 

Pippin snatched the potato from the plate and plopped it on his.  "Do you think they will tell more about that mysterious dwarf sorcerer?  Last time that dwarf was confined in his dungeons by crawling vines, remember?  I heard that he will not appear at all, because the play is long enough as it is.  And that lass from the mountain kingdom?  The one who fell for the noble knight?  What do you think will happen to her?  You know, I much prefer that the knight finally marry this lass rather than that princess in the tower?  She's much more down-to-earth, and I'd say she's prettier than the princess, she sings like a nightingale and she's really funny.  The princess scared me a bit with her mind-reading and …" 

"Cut your chicken, Pippin; spear it with your fork now, good; lift the fork to your mouth, there's a good lad," said Frodo, pouring himself a glass of wine.   

"I wonder how they will do the battle against the evil king.  It's really cruel, I think, to leave us wondering how the tale will end for almost…what, eight months?  I had nightmares about the little stable boy being tortured by the evil king.  It was really the stupidest thing to do, I think, to leave his warrior friends behind just because he was afraid they will corrupt him." 

"Chew before you swallow, Pip, or you will have indigestion and miss The Muses tomorrow," said Frodo, carving another hunk of chicken.  "And you can't blame them for taking so long to prepare the next part of the play.  A good show takes a lot of planning.  You don't want a sloppy finish to the tale, do you?  It has been a long wait, yes, but I am sure it has been a worthwhile one." 

"Don't think you can fool me, cousin," said Pippin, rolling his eyes.  "I know you are as thrilled about this as I am, you just pretend that you're not because all of this business about 'Oh, little Pippin the baby, not yet come of age' and 'Oh, cousin Frodo the wise, nearly forty and infinitely levelheaded.'  I can see through those glassy eyes of yours, Frodo, and know that your mind is actually not on that chicken breast you're eating but on the songs from the last performance.  How was it again…?" 

"'My choice I've made, to battle and death…'" started Frodo.

"'Against dark fear, down unknown path," Pippin went shrilly.  "'Yet…yet…'"   

"'Yet I know glory mine shall be," sang Frodo.  "'When all my foes before me flee.'" 

"Yes, yes!" Pippin clapped ecstatically.  "Sing that song from the summer party, Frodo." 

"Only if you stop pushing your beans around and start eating," said Frodo.  "Really, Pippin, you are too old to be spoon-fed." 

"Nag…" Pippin shoveled a forkful of beans into his mouth.  "Fing if naff." 

Frodo laughed and threw his napkin at Pippin.  "Nothing is too much for the Thain's son, eh, even entertainment during meals.  Oh, well…  Here goes…"  Frodo coughed solemnly twice then opened his mouth again.  "'Of the fireworks I shall remember none, nor of all the singing done.  Of the feast I shall recall only, that you sat beside me.  But I shall forever cherish the sound, of you laughing when we danced 'round…'" 

His song was brutally cut off by an insistent rap on the door.   

"That should be Merry," said Frodo, rising.  "Finish that chicken.  I'll see to the door." 

Still chuckling, Frodo went out to the front door.  "Yes, Merry, I'm coming!  I'm coming!"   

He opened the door and was viciously shoved back by a barreling blur of brown curls and green coat.  "Tomorrow!" the battering ram squealed.  "Tomorrow!"

Frodo tottered back and found both of his arms were clamped in two vise-like grips as he was being whirled around in a frantic flurry of dancing steps.              

"Merry!  Merry!" he shouted.  "I have just had dinner and you don't want me to be sick all over you!"

"Frodo, I saw the carts!  I saw the carts!" Merry screamed.  "Let's go down to the eastern field and look around!  Maybe we can see those singing lasses!  I can grab a bunch of flowers from the garden while you get a bottle of the Old Winyards…  Then maybe we can meet the warriors and ask how they're going to portray that war with the evil king…"            

"I don't want to know anything about it, Merry!" said Frodo in an exasperated tone.  "That will ruin tomorrow."            

"Don't tell me you don't want to meet the fair-haired lass, or the mysterious dwarf.  Come, Frodo!"            

Pippin was suddenly at the door, beaming and bouncing on his feet.  "We're going to see the lasses?  We're going to look at the carts?  Can we look behind the stage?  Can we go to the actors' tent?"            

"We are not going anywhere!" declared Frodo.  "I will not have my enjoyment destroyed by seeing the actors without their costumes!"            

"Oh, Frodo…" protested Pippin.            

"No!" stressed Frodo.  "We will simply walk to the fields tomorrow night, get ourselves tickets and watch A Hero's Return and that's that!"            

"Oh, Frodo, I will not be able to sleep tonight," groaned Merry.  "And I wager Pippin won't either, so…"            

"Don't bet, Merry, and as for Pippin, I have promised Cousin Eglantine to watch over him and make sure he goes to bed…"            

"I am not a baby, Frodo!"            

"Then stop behaving like one and quit whining!"     

"I did not whine!"            

"And we are not going down to the eastern fields and that is final!"            

Merry unlatched himself from Frodo and grabbed Pippin's arm.  "He can't stop us, Pip!" he said.  "Let's go!"            

Frodo moved with lightning speed alacrity and bodily barred the door.  "You are not going anywhere!  Either of you!"            

"There are always windows!" said Merry with a devilish smile, before dragging Pippin down the corridor.              

"And back doors!" Pippin giggled, running behind Merry.              

Frodo peeled himself from the door and, shaking his head and smiling wide, went back to the kitchen, and heard the back door bang shut just as he rounded the corner.

***

Merry and Pippin returned long after.  Frodo could hear them talking quietly all the way along the garden before they entered the back door.  Frodo looked up from his book and stared at them with a genuine surprise.  Merry looked pale and there were unmistakable traces of tears on Pippin's cheeks. 

"What happened?" he said as he rose from his chair, walking over to the two younger hobbits and gathering Pippin into his arms.   

"I'm dying, Frodo," sighed Pippin dejectedly into Frodo's shirt.  "They're killing me." 

"They who?" asked Frodo, turning to Merry for explanation.   

"The Muses," replied Merry morosely.  "We watched them rehearse.  _Dress rehearsal." _

Pippin went limp in Frodo's arms and Frodo tightened his embrace in alarm.  But the young Took only moaned, "I can't watch it, Frodo, oh, I can't.  I shall go mad if I have to see the stable boy die from the torment of the evil king."  And he began to sob unrestrainedly.   

Frodo shook his head in wonder and looked at Merry again, who was preparing tea with the look of one who had recently lost a much-loved relative.  "I told you that you should not have gone there," he said quietly, guiding Pippin to the table. 

Merry swallowed and Frodo could see that he was also fighting back tears.  "You were right," said Merry hollowly, "It was devastating.  I was so horrified to see the soldiers of the evil king march out in full might that I yelled.  That was how we were found out by the bounders and hauled out of the camp."

Frodo could not help but laugh at the mingled bitterness and folly in Merry's words.  He was rewarded by an injured look from Pippin, who had sat looking exceedingly mournful, munching on a piece of fruitcake Frodo had sliced and shoved into his hand. 

"You should see the stable boy," said Merry with scathing bitterness.  "He was filthy, tattered and wasted, and there were wounds all over him: gashes around his neck, whip weals on his feet.  And he was raving mad he nearly killed himself.  You know that song about his return in glory?  And that speech by his fortune-telling friend?  I think they are meant as irony.  He'll die there in the king's dungeon, I just know it.  He'll accomplish his quest, maybe, but he shall not see his sweetheart again." 

Despite himself, Frodo turned pale.  "Don't talk like that," he chided half-heartedly.  "They will not make a play with a sad ending.  It simply will not sell." 

"The sword-fight was amazing and the fair-haired lass dressed herself like a knight and…" began Pippin before Frodo clamped a hand over his mouth. 

"I'll not hear anymore of this!" he said fiercely.  "You both have your tea and go to your bed.  I'll see you in the morning." 

"We will see the first show, won't we, Frodo?" said Merry, pouring Pippin a cup of tea.   

"Of course, Merry, we will," said Frodo smiling.  

"The whole Hobbiton will turn up tomorrow night, I can guarantee that.  I heard the show was jam-packed the first night in Michel Delving that there very nearly was a mutiny among the crowd.  We can't risk not getting tickets, Frodo. We'd better come early," warned Merry, sitting down and grabbing a piece of scone from the basket on the table.  "You don't want to have to wait another night, and have people tell you how incredibly fantastic it is, do you?  You won't be able to bear it.  I won't." 

"Neither will I," said Pippin grimly.   

"The line for tickets starts after dinner-time, Merry, and not half a moment sooner.  We'll go there after tea and be the first in line," assured Frodo. 

"We'd better be," muttered Merry darkly, before looking gloomily at his tea, while Pippin put down his half-eaten cake and stared disconsolately at the crumbs.  Frodo shook his head with a smile and disappeared to his room.

***

"I told you!  I told you we should not have gone to the inn!  This is what comes out of your sensible suggestion," ranted Merry as he took in the long line of hobbits waiting to get tickets to the Muses' latest play.  "We'll never get a ticket!" 

To his credit, Frodo remained calm, but there was an edge in his voice as he said, "Shouting accomplishes nothing, Merry.  Go to the other line and stand there.  Pippin, stay with me." 

Pippin nodded, looking very pale and trembling a little as he watched Merry leave, still grumbling angrily. 

"The line's very long, Frodo," he whispered to his older cousin.  "And if each hobbit buys two tickets, they'll be sold out before we reach the booth." 

"Don't give up hope, Pip," said Frodo, standing on tiptoes and peering over the mass of curls, his heart sinking.  "We'll get those tickets." 

"The tent can only house around two hundred hobbits," whimpered Pippin.  "There are more than sixty in front of us…" 

"Quiet, Pip!" cut Frodo desperately.  "You'll see.  Those tickets will be ours." 

The line crawled with an excruciating slow pace.  Frodo found himself nervously shuffling from foot to foot, deliberately avoiding Pippin's accusing, imploring eyes.   

Finally he could not stand waiting anymore and, telling Pippin to stay at his place, he went to the head of the column.   

He watched with growing panic as hobbit after hobbit strode to the ticket booth and ordered not one, not two tickets but four, six, eight, until… 

"Sam!" 

With a jolt of relief he walked up to his gardener who stood only a hobbit away from the booth.   

"Mr. Frodo!" replied Sam with a broad grin.  "Have you got your tickets, sir?" 

"Well, that's the problem, Sam," explained Frodo, glancing nervously as the hobbit in front of Sam counted the coins to pay for eight tickets.  "I haven't, and Pippin is very distressed, the poor lad.  He was hoping to see A Hero's Return the first night.  He's waiting, and I can't go back without a ticket for him.  Would you mind buying the tickets for us, Sam?  Three, for Pippin, Merry and me?  I've got the money here." 

"Of course, sir," said Sam readily.  "I'm only buying for me and Rosie.  She's been looking forward to tonight, sir.  Mighty fond of plays, my Rosie is."

"Good, good," said Frodo absentmindedly, noting that the hobbit in front of Sam was already collecting his tickets and was making ready to leave his spot.  "Go, now." 

Sam stepped in front of the booth and declared, "Five tickets, please." 

The hobbit behind the counter scowled and droned, "Only two left.  You want to take them?" 

Sam looked horrified as he turned to Frodo.  Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a deep shuddering breath.   

"You take the tickets, sir," said Sam with an ill-feigned sincerity.  "You can go in with Master Pippin, or however you might arrange it with him and Mr. Merry.  Rosie and I can see the play any other day." 

"No, Sam," said Frodo heavily, gazing at the enticing tickets lying on the wooden counter in the booth.  "No.  You take the tickets.  You can't let Rose down on my account." 

"But Master Pippin will be beside himself with grief, sir, and I can't have that.  Rosie and I'll be fine.  Don't worry.  We'd much rather you take the tickets," said Sam earnestly. 

"No, Sam, thank you," said Frodo with as much finality and determination as he could muster.  "Have a good time with Rose and see you in the morning." 

"Sir, if you don't see the play now, I might as well not either," said Sam stubbornly. 

"Hey, what's taking so long there!" protested the hobbit behind Sam.  "If you're not taking those tickets, Sam, move over!  Me and the missus are willing enough to accept them…" 

Frodo looked straight into Sam's eyes.  "Sam," he said firmly.  "Don't be daft.  You are to take those tickets and have a grand time with Rose and that's an order.  Ah, ah, ah!  You're questioning my order, Sam?  No?  Good.  Because if you say another word about giving those tickets to me, I might have to consider dismissing you from my service. No, I am not bluffing! Off you go now with those tickets and make Rose happy or I'll personally haul the two of you inside and tie you down on the seats." 

Sam stared at his master with mouth wide open.  Frodo gave him a final nod and plodded away with hands in his pockets and eyes downcast.  Sam heaved a deep breath and turned to the ticket seller. 

"I'll take those tickets," he said meekly.

***

"Did you get the tickets, Frodo?" asked Pippin expectantly.  "Can we go in now?" 

Frodo swallowed hard and shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Pip. There were only two left when I got there, and I let Sam have them." 

Pippin gazed at his older cousin as though Frodo had suddenly sprouted a mass of beard and a set of whiskers.  "You let him have them?  Frodo!  Have you lost your mind?" 

"He has every right to the tickets, Pippin," said Frodo with a feeble attempt at concealing his own regret.  "He was here early." 

"And were it not for your terribly bright idea of stopping at the inn for a pint, we would have been too, Frodo!" shouted Pippin, sinking his fists in his cousin's arms and slamming his curly head repeatedly against Frodo's chest, drawing stifled grunts from the older hobbit.  "Sam…did not…even…remember…the name…of the…knight's horse…  He only…sees the play…because of that…Cotton lass…  I…deserve…to be…in that tent…more…than…him." 

He laid his head on Frodo's chest, still gripping the latter's sleeves, gasping and shaking.  Frodo wrapped his hands around his cousin's shoulder, resting his cheek on the young Took's curls.  "I'm sorry, Pip," he murmured softly. 

"Frodo!  Frodo!  Pip!  Pippin!" Merry's bellow came loud and shrill over the milling crowd of disgruntled ticket-less hobbits.   

"Here!" shouted Pippin, jumping up and down and waving his hands.  "Have you got the tickets, Merry?" 

Merry rushed toward his cousins and grabbed Pippin's hand.  "I knew it, I knew it!  Why I should choose tonight to start listening to Frodo's wise plan I'll never understand!" he muttered savagely.  "No, I didn't get any either, Pip.  But I've thought of something.  Come on!  If we talk to the manager, we might be able to get a pass.  You shall have to talk to him, Frodo!  You're the oldest, and much better at grown-up talk, and you have the most money.  Tell him about Bilbo; he will be impressed.  Or tell them Pip's dying and has little time left." 

"Are you suggesting that we bribe our way in, Merry?" asked Frodo as he sidestepped two wildly gesticulating hobbits clearly dismayed by the unexpected speed with which the tickets were sold.   

"No, I'm only proposing a mutually profitable deal.  Hurry!" Merry rammed his way through the sea of hobbits, followed by Pippin, who looked very much revived and Frodo, who looked skeptical, resigned and guardedly optimistic at the same time.  Finally they arrived at the back of the huge tent where two very fat hobbits were huddled over a small table and a round dwarvish lantern, counting money. 

"Go, Frodo," hissed Merry, pushing his older cousin.   

Frodo frowned at him but finally strode resolutely to the two hobbits.   

"Good evening," he said to them.  "I'm Frodo Baggins.  I wonder if you could be kind enough to do me a favor." 

The hobbits at the tabled eyed him suspiciously. 

"My cousins there," Frodo waved at Merry and Pippin, who had instinctively put on their best pitiable looks, "have been the unfortunate victims of my poor judgment.  I have promised them a ticket to the first show of the season and my inept timing has landed them in this situation." 

The two hobbits frowned at Frodo, one blowing a thick puff of grey smoke from his pipe.   

Frodo sighed.  "We did not get any tickets," he said finally, his cheeks burning. 

The hobbit with the pipe raised an eyebrow. 

"I wonder if we could make an arrangement," Frodo went on. 

The pipe hobbit inclined his head.

"If you can slip my cousins into the tent and let them sit anywhere, maybe even in the alley, I will pay you twice the ticket price," said Frodo. 

The pipe hobbit scowled and glanced at his partner who gave a most imperceptible shake of his head.  

"Please," said Frodo earnestly, though his heart was plummeting.  "They've come all the way from Tuckborough and Buckland.  Surely you can make an exception." 

Once again the pipe hobbit peered at his companion, who shook his head a trifle more emphatically. 

"How about three times the ticket price?" said Frodo, reaching for his coat pocket. 

Another exchange of suspicious glances; another, more resolute headshake. 

Frodo turned to look helplessly at his cousins.  Merry was scowling sullenly and Pippin's face was drained of color.   

Frodo drew a deep breath and, squaring his shoulders, stared at the two hobbits once more.  "Fivefold," he said firmly. 

"Mister," the pipe hobbit finally piped, "You can offer us all the jewels ever hoarded by every filthy drake this side of the Sea and I still can do nothing about those pitiful cousins of yours.  You will want to talk to Mr. Woodknot and he's in the tent with the actors now, and none can get into the tent without tickets.  And I have to warn you, Mr. Baggins; Mr. Woodknot is right fussy about seats.  He says he'll not have the tent be packed like cucumbers in a pickle jar.  A bit of an accident with the torch and who knows how many old gammers will get trampled once the stampede starts, he always says." 

Frodo closed his eyes and fought an urge to start massaging his throbbing temple.   

"Very well," he said at last.  "Thank you for your time." 

He whirled around and started walking toward his cousins, thunder cracking in his eyes.  Merry took some cautious steps back, chattering fast, "You could not blame it all on me, Frodo.  How should I know that they are not the managers?  They're fat enough for the part…"

***

_Thwack!  Thwack! _ 

"Stop it, Merry, Pip," said Frodo half-heartedly, drawing gloomily on his pipe.  "Sam spent hours pruning that hedge last week." 

_Thwack!_

"Sam's watching A Hero's Return now," retorted Merry bitterly, loading his slingshot with another stone, taking careful aim at the forsythia bushes and shot, taking the tip off the top branch.  "And we are not." 

"They're battling the evil king's army now _(thwack!), trying to draw his attention __(thwack!) away from the dungeon _(thwack!)_ so the stable boy could escape (thwack!) and rescue the princess __(thwack!)  in the tower _(thwack!)_," said Pippin coldly, shooting in rapid succession.   _

"This is so _(thwack!) unfair," muttered Merry darkly. _

"We can still watch it tomorrow," said Frodo with less conviction than he wished for.  "It's not the end of the Shire." 

"Estella will laugh at me when she finds out _(thwack!)_.  I told her many times I would not miss the first show of the season _(thwack!)_ and I even asked her to go with me _(thwack!)_…" 

"Well, count yourself lucky then that she turned down your offer," said Frodo, smothering a laugh.

"Yes, I suppose I am _(thwack!) lucky," said Merry, giving Frodo a chilly glance.  "Compared to you, cousin.  __(thwack!)  I overheard Lotho laugh (thwack!) when he learned that you failed to get us _(thwack!)_ tickets." _

Frodo's eyes blazed but his tone was cool when he spoke, "He did, did he?" 

"Yes, cousin," said Pippin, bending to pick up more stones from the gravel path around the flowerbeds.  "He said 'Nothing that dreamy-eyed, spineless excuse for a Baggins can do _(thwack!)_ without his blustering, queer uncle, eh? _(thwack!)   Can't even get tickets for his __(thwack!) bratty, snotty cousins, I heard _(thwack!)_.'  Then he snickered." _

Frodo frowned then put his pipe on the wooden bench where he had been sitting.  He stood and without a word snatched the slingshot from Pippin's hand, and started to rain the bush with pebbles.  Branches snapped right and left, falling in ever thickening heaps on the moist earth.  Finally, when a section of the hedge had been completely demolished, Frodo stopped and thrust the slingshot back to Pippin. 

"Frodo," said Merry quietly. 

"Hmm?" 

"You said this show is not an issue of life and death." 

"I did." 

"But I think you've just killed that bush." 

"And your point?" 

Merry blinked up at Frodo, thought of several things to say, thought better of the first three and decided upon, "No point, cousin.  No point at all." 

Frodo nodded then turned and calmly retrieved his pipe.  "Goodnight, lads," he said as he turned back and headed to the smial. 

Pippin came over and sat next to Merry.  They both sat staring after Frodo, Pippin fingering the slingshot thoughtfully. 

"Merry?" 

Eyes still following Frodo, Merry responded, "Yes, Pip?" 

"He's taking it rather hard, don't you think?" 

"Yes, Pip.  He certainly is." 

"I mean, it's only a play, after all.  No need to get all whingy about it." 

"I quite agree.  Rather silly, I think." 

"I'd say cousin Frodo's rather lucky to have us here to be the voices of wisdom and reason, don't you think?" 

"Yes, Pip, I do," Merry agreed.  "Can't have him wallowing in self-pity over such a silly thing as a play now, can we?"  Merry stretched and turned to grin at Pippin.  "Yes, I'd say  Frodo's very lucky to have our influence.  Very lucky, indeed."

~fin~


End file.
